Harry Potter and the Secret of Myrddin
by Lore of Eternity
Summary: Mistaken for a squib by Lily and James, and growing up overshadowed by his twin brother, the famous Boy-Who-Lived John Potter, a lonely Harry is eventually pushed of to his magic hating relatives in good faith. With the seed of hate taking root in Harry, his path to greatness let him proceed a narrow path between the light and the dark with secrets on the way. Slytherin!Harry
1. Prologue: A Story Worth Telling

**Prolog: A Story Worth Telling**

* * *

 **Thursday, distant future**  
 **South Buckinghamshire, London**  
 **Begonia Avenue**  
 **9:30 AM**

It was one of those rare beautiful summer days in London on which not a single treacherous greyish cloud, that heralded impending cold and rain, could be seen for miles. After savouring a rich English breakfast, people were swarming out of their houses to enjoy their holidays. Birds could be heard chirping happily all over the place and occasionally leaves on the trees and on the streets started to rustle and dance when a small cooling breeze picked them up and carried them along. Soon enough the whole city was alive and buzzing like a hive.

The only person to not actually enjoying this day was probably Devan Lochees, an old man going past his fifties with only a ring of frilly white hair left surrounding his bald head. Not because he didn't enjoy the weather or the people, or another equally stupid reason, but he was feeling lost. Lost in a city he never visited before, considering his profession as historian quite surprising really. Lost looking for a place that didn't exist, according to the people he asked and what the almighty and knowing internet had told him.

Looking down in his hands, Devan was holding a neatly preserved piece of parchment. One day it had magically appeared on his desk at home. There was nothing written on it except an address that according to the rest of the world didn't exist. You may wonder why a person of his status and age was burdening himself to chase a ghost around the world that was clearly meant to be a child's joke. The reason was making Devan nervous and excited at the same time. Under the non-existing address, signed sloppily with black ink, stood a name, nothing more.

 **South Buckinghamshire**  
 **Begonia Avenue 7**

 **signed by**  
 **Harry James Potter**

Everyone on the planet knew this name as the person who had broke deliberately the Statute of Secrecy between magical and non-magical humans and helped to create a society where both worlds could live in without fear of persecution or worse. For muggle it still was pretty mind-boggling to observe wizards and witches just waving their wands and transforming, conjuring and charming everything as long as you had enough power, knowledge and a creative mind. Devan had just been starting to get his education in Hogwarts when this has taking place. Back then Mr. Potter had been as old as he was now. Mr. Potter was a living legend and not only for this deed. His life career on Wikipedia alone was an impressive collection of accomplishments with each exploit outdoing the next, earning him a wide branch of moniker.

At the age of fourteen he had won the Triwizard Tournament and earned the title Triwizard Champion. Several years later he had beaten and killed the Dark Lord Voldemort as a mere teenager and people started calling him the Vanquisher and the Chosen One or The-Boy-Who-Won and many more silly names. After that it had become silent around Harry Potter for a while and then, out of the blue, when he was barely thirty years old Mr. Potter became Minister of Magic. In Hogwarts, they had called him Harry the Arcane for his ability of casting wandless magic and Harry the Bloodless. Though sadly nobody knew anymore why they called him that today. Devan was sure there was an interesting story behind this particular moniker.

Sadly overall all information about Harry Potter's life were very vague aside from his accomplishments past his time at Hogwarts as Mr. Potter was a very private man and his friends and colleagues back in the day had been tight-lipped about his life. As a famous historian, Devan had looked into the life of Harry Potter more closely when he was younger, but found nothing noteworthy in Wikipedia or in the old tomes of Hogwarts. Many rumours were surrounding the legend that was Harry Potter.

Devan was torn out of his musings as he turned into the street written on the parchment. The place has to be here somewhere, he thought to himself, walking down the street, counting house numbers.

"Number 12... 11... 10...", he counted quietly for himself, passing house after house. "9... 8... It can't be." His voice was laced with awe, stopping in his tracks. He hasn't chased a hoax after all. Of course there was only one explanation why nobody knew this address... "Fidelius Charm! Why didn't I thought of that before? He is the secret keeper, and he gave away the secret through his mail."

There in between, totally out of place for that kind of living area of middle class muggles and sticking out quite strongly from the normal single-family houses, stood a two-story manor. For a manor it looked commonly, not overly large really, but quite expensive nevertheless. The home of Britain's greatest hero of modern history. Devan Lochees couldn't hide his astonishment as he gazed at the manor that was the home of the infamous Mr. Potter and his wife Mrs. Potter.

Looking around, Devan saw a passing woman a little younger than himself and addressed her politely. "Good woman, can you tell me what you see there, please?" he asked pointing directly at the manor.

Startled the woman stopped in her tracks, clearly surprised she was talked to by a complete stranger out of the sudden. However, the man seemed friendly enough and her eyes followed the direction his finger was pointing too only to see nothing but an empty big property that had been there for decades. "Nothing," she replied confused, but equally polite.

"Really nothing?" he pressed more urgently.

"Well, there is an empty property with a sign that indicates the property has been brought, but that is here for as long as I can remember," she described more extensively with her brows furrowed.

"Thank you! Thank you very much indeed!" he laughed clapping into his hands like a little excited school girl. He wasn't on a wild goose chase any longer. While Devan celebrated, the woman walked away briskly from the blatantly insane man.

"Magic... you have to love this."

The sound of a loud crack and the rusty chuckling of an old man behind him ripped him out of his musings. "Very impressive isn't it?"

He spun around with surprise. "Y-You're really Mr. Potter," the Chronicler managed to splutter out after the initial shock. His grey eyes roamed over the fabled man that was Harry Potter. He was tall, but not overly so with full white hair on top and an equally white, neatly trimmed beard and countless little wrinkles forming his aged face. Most noticeable though were his famous intense green eyes that hadn't lost a spark of life like the rest of his body, however, with over a hundred years under his belt not especially surprising. His garb was a simple wizard robe in a dark blue almost black colour. "How did you know I was here?" the Chronicler wanted to know.

The wrinkles under Harry's eyes became more prominent as he smiled. "Let's just say I have means to determine if a passenger is actually just a passenger or deliberately looking for me."

"A ward?" Devan asked curiously. "Must be an impressive one. Never heard of such a kind."

Harry's green eyes twinkled not unlike another famous wizard whose portrait still hung in the headmaster's office in Hogwarts. "Something like that," Harry replied, obviously not intending to go into detail of his security measures.

"Shall we?" Harry was holding out his arm for grabbing.

"We're gonna apparate into the manor, can't we just walk through the front door?", the Chronicler asked confused.

Harry smiled patiently. "When my wife and I moved here to get away from the public, I installed some neat little tricks, if I dare say so myself. If by some miracle somebody manages to overcome the Fidelius Charm and tries to enter my home without me or my dear wife, well, let's say the consequences for the intruder can be quite disastrous. So I advise you to grab onto me... unless you want a trip straight to St Mungo's of course," he finished jokingly.

"But you send me an invitation... You don't trust me?"

Harry gave him a stern look. "Don't interpret too much into this invitation, Mr. Lochees. You don't know me at all and I'm not arrogant enough to think I know you. So yes, I do not trust you enough to walk in and out of my house like you please. However, I ensure you, you'll be perfectly safe once we're inside. Everything else is a discussion meant to be heard inside," Harry stressed out and pushed his arm out for the Chronicler to hold again. "Otherwise, if this arrangement is not to your liking, you're free to go now, Mr Lochess." Harry's eyes turned hard.

"Very well..." He grabbed onto Harry's forearm and was welcomed almost instantly with the unpleasant feeling of getting squeezed together from all directions and forced through a very thin tube. It only lasted for a blink of an eye, but the Chronicler has never appreciated this kind of magic transportation and staggered a little dizzily as he was materialised back inside Harry's private office, grabbing onto what appeared to be like a cushioned chair.

Harry looked over the Chronicler understandingly as he himself still couldn't shake of this nasty experienced. "Everything alright? If you've to, you know, vomit, the bathroom is down the corridor three doors to the left."

Holding his rebelling stomach with one hand, the Chronicler waved him off. "I need just a moment to gather myself."

"That's kinda surprising. I've never seen a wizard your age that shows such a strong negative reaction to apparating, Mr. Lochees."

"Sadly my body has never reacted well to magic transportation apart from floo powder. I much prefer the muggle way to be honest," the Chronicler explained, breathing out in relief as the spinning in his head and belly stopped.

"I can relate a bit," said Harry nonchalantly and walked swiftly to the door. "Before we can talk about business, I have to make sure all accommodations for your visit have been finished. Until now, we weren't sure, whether you'd come or not. So, please excuse me for a moment, but feel free to look around for a bit. I'll be back shortly."

"Who is we?" the Chronicler asked curiously, stopping Harry in his tracks.

Harry old winkled face lit up with a fond smile. "My dear wife of course. Who else?"

When the clicked shut and the Chronicler was alone in Harry Potter's private office, he decided to inspect the room more precisely like Mr. Potter had suggested. The office was classic square shaped with the entry opposing a beautiful wide window front which let enough light through to make artificial lighting though-out the day unnecessary. Some unknown plants were standing closely by the window as well to bathe in the sunlight. The furniture didn't look out of the ordinary, but was still high-class in quality, a wooden desk was standing near the window as were some plants that were almost as big as himself. When entering the office, on the right-hand side was a wide bookshelf reaching the ceiling filled with various modern books, scrolls and ancient tomes. Some looked like they would crumble as soon one might think of touching them and others looked like they had been bought yesterday and not even read once. Although the Chronicler was a man of history and Harry Potter's collection was indeed impressive, and he wondered what kind of literature the man behind the legend would read in his free time, something different caught his attention.

On the left-hand side, in the middle of the wall was a fireplace traditional for magical families, who not only welcomed a cosy room during colder days, but also a more convenient means of transportation beside flying on a hard piece of wood or Apparition which often left people with uneasy stomachs. What caught his attention though were the items hanging above it like some kind of trophy. The first item was obviously a broken broom, snapped in the half by some misfortune in the past. Almost completely black in color, its shape unlike any model he had ever seen and certainly this broom has never been produced by some companies like the Nimbus Broom Racing Company. A small mystery right in front of him. His grey eyes wandered to the small name plate below. "Thunderbolt," he read quietly to himself. "Odd name, but somehow fitting I guess."

The second item hung right beside the broken broom and was recognized right away by the Chronicler. It was the missing sword of Godric Gryffindor no doubt about it. Made of the purest form of silver one could find and the golden hilt set with egg-sized rubies. His old face became even more wrinkled as he frowned at the missing engraving on the blade just beneath the hilt. Normally the name of Godric Gryffindor should be there. Perhaps the sword was a very good replica or his old age was finally playing tricks on his mind and this wasn't Gryffindor's sword to begin with. Come to think of it, why would Harry Potter have the missing sword in his possession and never uttered a word when whole Britain had been searching under every rock after the defeat of Lord Voldemort? This was actually eating on his pride as historian, and he needed to know the truth. Once again, but with more vigour this time around, his eyes darted to the name plate below the supposed renowned sword, seeking confirmation. "Caliburnus," he read and once more was nagging on his mind. Something about the name was making him excited, but he couldn't put his finger on it for the life of him.

He was so deep in thought, he didn't hear the door opening again. Only the elderly voice of his host ripped him out of his musings and let him turn around startled. "Ahhh... I see you have found two of my most precious possessions. Both of them have a unique past behind them."

The Chronicler looked like a child with his hands caught in a cookie jar. "Excuse me... I'm a guest and I shouldn't have sniffed around on my own."

Harry looked amused by the man half his age. "It's quite alright really. I gave you my permission to look around after all."

"I'm glad," the Chronicler signed in relief and turned his back to both trophies. "At first I thought this was the missing sword of Godric Gryffindor, but it's just a very well-made replica. I was wondering what 'Caliburnus'stands for. It's Latin, isn't it?

There was a certain twinkling in Harry's eyes not unlike from a long since deceased, but nevertheless renowned wizard. "Actually this is Godric's famous sword and to answer your question there are a few translations, but the most popular one would be 'Excalibur'"

"But..." The Chronicler looked totally confused, but stopped mid sentence when Harry lifted his hand, signalling him to stop.

"Mr. Devan...," Harry began politely. "I've no doubt you're curious about the answer to say the least, however, this kind of conversation as enlightening it might be is not what I intended when I lured you to my home as the answer will only lead to more questions and so on." Harry made an inviting gesture with his hand towards a free chair at his desk and both of them sat down. "I promise all questions will be answered during your stay at my humble home. Dobby, my own house-elf has informed me just moments ago that all accommodations are finished."

"Mr. Potter as honoured as I'am to be here, this is highly unusual. For what purpose am I, as you said 'lured' here?"

Harry smiled. "I always liked muggle films since I was a little boy. Did you see the film 'Matrix' by any chance? It was fairly new and famous when I was still a teenager, but it's pretty old now, so I wouldn't be surprised, If you didn't...," asked Harry and waited for a response to continue. The Chronicler shook his head, interested where this off track was leading to. "You see, there was this character called Neo who was confronted to make a choice. He was offered to swallow a red or blue pill. If he swallows the blue pill, he'd wake up the next day, forgetting everything what happened until this very moment. He would continue to live inside his narrow world and kept believing whatever truth he thought the truth was, even in reality it was a lie. But... If Neo chooses the red pill, he would stay awake and led deeper into the rabbit whole, learning the truth he was seeking all his life."

"Why are you telling me this, Mr. Potter?"

"I'am telling you this, because you have a choice to make now, Mr. Lochees. Sadly I have no symbolic pills to offer, but the analogy between the scene of the film and your situation now couldn't be more similar. " Harry pulled both hands forth as fists and opened them successively. "Your first option is to take this trip as nuisance and go. Remembering it as a simple conversation between two old man. Wasted time. What ever floats your boat as they say. Or... You can stay and listen what I have to say. Consider what I can offer you. They call you 'The Great Debunker', don't they? How about debunking the great Harry Potter?", he finished, sounding sardonic, no, downright bitterly.

The Chronicler looked sceptical. "Mr. Potter, I don't know what to say. This is all really strange and unexpected to say the least."

"That's fair enough. Obviously I can't go into detail, but I think you should know I want you to write a story about me. A biography, if you will."

"Not to sound ungrateful, quite the contrary actually. I feel honoured, but why me? There are a lot more people in my profession, who are more well-known and though it's hard to admit, better work. I've grown old myself," the Chronicler replied thoughtfully.

Harry looked a little amused again. "A man in my position doesn't keep his secrets if he stays passive. I know you have tried to write about me in the past and that's why I have looked at you more closely and to be honest I'am quite pleased." Harry said smiling and began counting on his findings. "Devan Lochees of House Lochees, an old magical bloodline that in the past was quite influential, but has fallen out of power over time beginning in the early 18th century for allowing muggle blood to tarnish their heritage. Nowadays the name Lochees is just a name, you on the other hand have built up a reputation for yourself. Leaving Hogwarts with relatively good marks, you became a travelling historian, almost like Indiana Jones…," Harry jokingly added, „…just without the dangerous adventures. Famous for writing several biographies of important men and women in both the muggle and wizarding world, some of them even had been Minister of Magic for a while. Facts and truths are more important to you than lies and fraud and the like. That's how you earned the moniker 'The Great Debunker'. Maybe one of your most famous works is the book 'The Mating Habits of the Common Draccus' which is still used in reference in Hogwarts."

Harry's green eyes pierced right through Mr. Lochees. His hands were still between them, open palms symbolically heaving up and down weighting his options. "There isn't any other person I would trust with this, but I'm afraid you've to make the decision now."

The grey eyes of Devan Lochees, the Great Debunker, were looking around alternating between Mr. Potter's imploring face, random points in the room, the light shining through the window and the sword with the broken broom hanging on the wall. Was he still up for it at his old age? This was an once in a lifetime opportunity.

"I still don't understand why this is so important to you Mr. Potter, but I would be a fool to decline for what others would kill for," the Chronicler replied. "I will take the red pill."

Finally, Harry could take his hands back, they started to ache a bit, and he leaned back in his chair as the tension dissipated. "Where are my manners... Do you want something to drink? We have all kind of drinks ranging from the ordinary muggle brewing to butterbear and firewhisky", Harry offered.

"Just a glass of water for the moment, please. I much prefer to stay sober during business."

"Of course, of course. Dobby, would you mind?", Harry called out a little louder.

A loud crack could be heard again. "Master Harry sir called for Dobby?" echoed the frail, oldish voice from the fireplace across the room.

"Would you be so kind and bring our guest a glass of water and for me a butterbeer, please?" Harry asked kindly.

Dobby nodded and his big baggy ears wobbled in return. "Dobby will be on his way. Dobby won't disappoint Master Harry sir," promised the old little elf enthusiastically and disapparated again.

Harry had to chuckle at the bewildered look he got from the Chronicler. "I know he can be a little strange, but Dobby is in my service for over eighty years, and we consider him a family member. Sadly he still refuses to simply call me Harry," he explained smiling.

"House-elfs can be like that, fiercely loyal and caring for their owners and stubborn at the same time," the Chronicler said amused. "So is there a particular reason why you want your own biography now? I bet there has been many attempts and offers before you approached me."

"You've no idea, but let me ask you a question first...," Harry said and leaned forward in his chair, his green eyes grew serious as can be. "What do you know about my time at Hogwarts and before? What did you find out on your own?"

The Chronicler shrugged. "While I found plenty of information inside old newspapers of the Daily Prophet about your parents, in peculiar your twin brother The Boy-Who-Lived and even a meagre amount on your younger sister, there have been almost no details about you. The only article during Hogwarts dedicated about you, was about the Triwizard Tournament in which you participated even though you had been too young to be legally allowed to."

"So you found nothing then?" Harry pressed harder. "Nothing at all?"

"Well aside of the common rumours and names they called you, nothing of true value," he answered.

"What kind of names did you pick up?" Harry asked again.

"They called you Harry the Bloodless for reasons I don't know, Harry the Arcane for your impressive abilities in wandless magic even during Hogwarts I presume, Triwizard Champion for obvious reasons, Chosen One and Vanquisher for killing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which was expected of your brother until you finally did the job, thank you by the way," the Chronicler complied with Harry's request and listed all names.

Harry looked unsatisfied, even a little disgusted. "You don't need to hold back for my sake, there have been more, I'm sure."

"They called you also the Heir of Slytherin, a rare one was even the Master of Death and..., " the Chronicler looked uneasy.

"And...?"

"They called you Harry the Kinslayer, which couldn't be possible. There would've been articles and trial reports, not to mention that non of your family members died during those dark times," he sputtered nervously.

Harry leaned back again, but not like before, he looked weary, defeated and even guilty. "All these names sound very impressive, don't they? Some of them are indeed negative and yet all of them are true to some extent," Harry began, his eyes were looking at the Chronicler and at the same time they were looking through him like he was a ghost. "As you can see, I'm very old now. Me and my wife are going to die soon, Mr. Lochees. My lifework is done and there is no threat of it being destroyed or undone, even if the truth about me comes out to the public."

The Great Debunker looked conflicted at the revelation. "As much as your death would sadden me and whole of Britain, no, the whole world. Why would you want to tarnish your reputation?"

Harry looked conflicted. "There are many things you'll learn about me, during your stay here, Mr. Lochees. But to answer your question... Before I killed Voldemort I was overshadowed by my brother for years simply because everyone assumed he survived Voldemort's attack all those decades ago."

"Are you implying your brother was never the Boy-Who-Lived to begin with?" the Chronicler in bewilderment, but his face morphed into embarrassment when he realized he had just interrupted Harry Potter in an important explanation. "Never mind, continue on please, Mr. Potter."

"I was named all kind of names before I started attending Hogwarts... Liar, fraud, attention seeker, squib, boy... freak," Harry needed a short pause to collect his thoughts. "You'll learn my childhood was anything but happy. There is a reason you find so many articles about my parents or my brother, but not about me... I was unimportant, unwanted and disregarded and that formed my character early on. I wanted to be recognized by my brother and especially my parents. But most importantly I always wanted to be recognized by the deeds I did and not what people thought I did like my brother. To my greatest regrets I did unmentionable things, things that still haunts me in my nightmares. I'm not a hero. I also didn't kill Voldemort because it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted revenge. Revenge... Revenge is like poison, it takes possession of us and turns even the best of people into abominations. I changed from a kind-hearted, shy boy that only wanted to gain attention and a little bit of love to a monster. Without realizing it, I became vindictive and even cruel," Harry sighed looking tired. "If the truth came out about me, there would've been no way for me to change our world for the better. I stayed silent and the rest is history as they call it. But I want people to truly know who I am and who I was. They shouldn't worship me when I'm gone."

Silence was resonating through the room. Not even the sound of breathing seemed to be able to breach the absolute silence claiming both of them. The Chronicler looked more than a little bit shocked at Harry and Harry... He looked right through his guest. His mind was clearly somewhere in the past. None of them seemed eager to change that. Silence was their friend now like a warm blanket at night.

* * *

To be continued...

This has been the prolog, which has turned out longer than I intended at first. Hopefully it served its purpose in giving you guys an idea what you can expect about what is gonna happen in Harry's tale. With that in mind, I still want to address some points of worry that might come up here from you guys.

First I want to make absolutely clear, that even though it's a WBWL-Story, I will try to avoid clichés like the pest, or make them at least believable in their explanation. So, what can you expect aside what I haven't already revealed in the prolog? Harry will definitely not be rich by some stupid inheritage test by the goblins and claim multiple houses as his own. I hate these plotlines… On the contrary actually, Harry will be rather poor for a long time.

Secondly, people might worry about the wandless magic ability of Harry. Unfortunately I can't reveal how it's gonna work yet, but when the time comes, I will explain extensively and there will be drawbacks for Harry!

The last point I want to address is just a general clarification about some characters. There will rarely show up some, but only few, people from the „Kingkiller Chronicles" like Devan Lochees for example. This is NOT a crossover fanfiction and as such these character are not really important for the plot. It's just an homage or cameo if you will, because I really like the book series. The only characters you could describe as OC will be Harry's brother and his younger sister. All other characters will be from the Harry Potter universe.

That is all on my part for now. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are eager for more. I'm always open for criticism, good or bad doesn't matter, and general suggestions. I would rejoice about comments of course, everything else would be lie, as they're a great source of motivation.

See ya!

Some of Harry's monikers:

Harry the Arcane

Harry the Bloodless

Heir of Slytherin

Harry the Kinslayer

Chosen One

Vanquisher

Triwizard Champion

Master of Death


	2. Chapter 01: Trick or Treat

**Chapter 01: Trick or Treat**

* * *

 **Saturday, October 31, 1981**

 **Godric's Hollow**

 **6:00 PM**

The most darkly myths and the biggest legends in the wizarding world had almost always begun on a chilly night on Halloween. But not only the magical folk was celebrating the feast of the living and the dead, where the veil between both realms are said to be the weakest... Recently the popularity of Halloween has been increasing among the muggles as well. As such the houses of Godric's Hallow have been festively decorated with engraved and glowing pumpkins, artificial skeletons, pseudo ghosts and other spooky adornments. Earlier that day, many dressed up children in mockingly scary costumes had been running from house to house to ask for trick or treat. There had been one exception though... A single cottage that was devoid of underage midgets asking for sweets, cute cut-up pumpkins standing on the doorway or anything remotely close to Halloween. It wasn't abandoned either as light was emitting weakly through the veiled windows. The cottage was just forgotten or rather people couldn't take notice of it, even if they bumped in to it accidentally... The Fidlius Charm was at work. One of the most powerful spells known to wizards and witches. The spell has been cast to protect one of the oldest families of wizarding Britain. The family of House Potter.

Despite its own rich history going back to medieval times, the House of Potter was said to be originated from an even older and more famous bloodline, the House of Peverell, who are not only ancient in age, but also closely linked to the myth of the three brothers and the Deathly Hollows narrated in a popular book for children called 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. For the last several decades and maybe longer than that, the House of Potter had been mostly content to enjoy their wealth in private, lean back and watch the noble houses of Britain fight between themselves in the Wizengamot. But things changed ever so slightly after the rise and fall of one of the most dangerous dark wizards of all time, Gellert Grindelwald, a once terrific wizard of German origin, who no longer wanted to hide from muggles like the rest of the magical world, but dominate them under an iron fist. Eventually he had been defeated at the peak of his power by Albus Dumbledore in a spectacular magical duel and has been imprisoned inside his own jail like tower called Nurmengard. But his dangerous ideology was far from being extinct.

In the shadow of his fascist heritage a young talented orphan boy grew up to be an excellent wizard, but everything he portrayed to others as a boy and later as young man was just a well-made façade. He knew no love. He knew no friendship. He knew nothing but hate and the search for more power and immortality. He was Lord Voldemort, the most dangerous and powerful wizard of all time and with the support of the pure-blood supremacist he started the first wizarding war in Britain. The victory was just a matter of time and inevitable in his grasp, but some minor detail was nagging him, even worry him enough to put a stop to all his operations. A true prophecy has been recorded in the presence of his biggest enemy Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, the defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, and the only man who could still oppose him openly.

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...,' that had been the words of the prophecy overheard in a tavern by one of his youngest and most promising followers, before he had been discovered eavesdropping and had to flee. Naturally the proclaimed Dark Lord couldn't, under any circumstances, let that prophecy fulfil itself if it was true. The prophecy had been spoken in vague verses, but with his loyal spies in the Ministry of Magic and the vigilante group called Order of the Phoenix, he finally had figured out three candidates who could be meant by and two of them were the youngest addition of House Potter and only one of House Longbottom. He searched high and low for them, but they had gone into hiding. Fortunately an opportunity revealed itself to kill all three candidates on one evening. He would take it upon himself to kill two of them. To bad, he had to exterminate two old noble lines.

There was an unusual atmosphere of departure in the hidden Potter cottage as Lily and James Potter prepared themselves to attend a meeting arranged by the Order of the Phoenix for the first time since they had been forced to go into hiding.

"Oh, Lily, just look at his adorable face," Dorea Potter said gushingly as she pressed her cheek against the cheek of her grandchild, eliciting several gurgles that sounded like giggling. "Harry has James face, but your beautiful eyes, dear. Once he grows up, the girls in Hogwarts will swoon all over him just like with his father."

"Woman, get a grip on yourself!" Charlus Potter grunted irritated, but with a hinted smile on his face.

Ever since a fraction of the prophecy of Sybill Trelawney had reached Voldemort's ears, the man had stopped most of his gruesome activities and diverted his resources into finding them.

Lily laughed as she packed a few items into a purse. "I know... I know... You've told me several times." Her eyes became stern as she noticed her other child playing with an important object, making it levitate in front of his chubby face by accidental magic. "No, John! This is not a toy," she said strictly and took the communication mirror, which they used to get informed by Dumbledore and the Order, from his vicinity. Like most things in life every action will result in a reaction, especially by little kids and little John was no exception. As soon as Lily took away his new-found 'toy', he started making whimpering noises. He was on the verge of tears.

The great Albus Dumbledore had warned them immediately and with the help of their most trusted friend as their secret keeper, Sirius Black, or known as Padfoot among their friends, the whole Potter family, including the parents of James, had used the Fidelius Charm to make everyone forgot the cottage in Godric's Hollow. It was quite hard and mentally exhausting for four adults and two very young boys to live under the same roof in such a small house. The only communication to the outer world was the mirror now in Lily's delicate hands.

"Come on, little man," James said soothingly and lifted John of the ground into his strong, protective arms. "Let's get you another toy and let your nagging mother keep hers to herself," he added playfully at the end, winking at his wife as she sends him a dirty look.

"The little rascal sure shows a strong affinity for accidental magic. Just yesterday he coloured my hair black, when I played with him...", Charlus laughed heartily.

Dorea snorted unladylike. "John has already a mischief side of him, just like his father. I saw him playing by himself last week, levitating several stuffed animals around him."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Harry do something similar yet," Charlus Potter tossed in thoughtfully.

Lily rolled with her eyes. "They're both only thirteen months old yet and Harry just needs a little more time. I'm sure both of them will do great at Hogwarts when their time comes."

"Of course they will," she heard James laughter as he came back from upstairs with John in his arms, who was clutching a stuffed teddy to his chest and his mood visibly improved. "They will be the new generation of Marauders and give Minerva quite a few sleepless nights, no doubt," he added visible amused.

He placed John down in the play corner in the living room and walked over to Lily, embracing her from behind and watched her packing some emergency potions into the magical expanded purse. "You worry too much, Lily," he said placing a chaste kiss on her neck and snatched away the mirror from her hands.

James walked over to his father and gave him the magical communicating mirror. "Just in case something comes up."

Closing her purse, apparently finished with packing, Lily walked first over to John and gave him a wet smooch on his cheek. "Be nice to your grandparents my little Marauder," she whispered into his ear, and he giggled in response. Next she walked over to Dorea, who was still holding Harry in her arms. "You too, pumpkin. Be nice to your grandparents," she repeated, including the wet kiss on the cheek.

Grabbing her purse, James was already waiting at the door for her. "Come on. It will be good to see the others again."

Lily laughed at his enthusiasm, knowing he just wanted mess around with Sirius again. They haven't seen each other for so long... She walked over to him, but turned around a last time. "Please use the mirror if anything happens, and we'll come back immediately!"

Charlus grunted theatrically. "Don't fret too much, Lily... You'll only be gone for a few hours at most, and we have brought up the biggest troublemaker Hogwarts has ever seen. What can go wrong in a few hours?"

* * *

 **Godric's Hollow**

 **9:00 PM**

Coming from the kitchen, where she prepared some snacks for herself and her dunderhead of a husband, Dorea smiled fondly at the picture of her husband openly snoring inside his armchair in the living room. The little rascals, as Charlus liked to call the twins, had been brought to bed some time ago and slept peacefully in their beds for now, but not without totally exhausting the elderly Potter beforehand. Despite only fifteen-months-old, the twins were quite active and loved to be chased around, giggling like little elfs in the process.

Standing in the doorway, Dorea watched him snore away with an out-dated edition of the Daily Prophet spread out over on his pot-belly. Her smile grew sombre at their situation... Contrary to James and Lily, their marriage had been organized by their parents against their consent to keep the blood pure. Something both of them never wanted for their own child, James. The madness called blood purity was a delicate issue for all magical families to some degree. While the House of Black and other families considered dark were infamous for their obsession with a clear consistent magical history, other houses like the Potters were following a more liberal approach and were aware of fresh blood being good and necessary once in a while. But at the end of the day all of them feared having squibs born into their houses. It was a disgrace, a black spot in history for every house, a sign of losing magical prowess. Luckily for Charlus and Dorea, after some highs and lows like in any normal relationship, it had worked out in the end, and they loved each other dearly now.

She walked over to him and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and walked back to the kitchen, not knowing that would be the last close moment between them. As she reached the kitchen a deafening bang resonated through the house, followed by the sound of splintering wood. The entrance door of the cottage had been blown up. As her ears were still ringing from the blast, everything seemed to be in slow motion and Dorea had trouble making her way upstairs to the twins.

"It's him!" she heard a familiar voice scream through the house in horror. "Take the kids and run! I will hold him back!"

Intuitively Dorea grabbed her wand that was always close at hand in times like these and stampeded to the twins room after climbing the stairs, the adrenaline in her blood was making her cut out the voices and sounds coming from downstairs. Upon reaching the nursery, Dorea was greeted by her nephews standing in their crib, bawling their eyes out. "Everything will be fine!" she tried to sound calmingly, but failed miserably.

Suddenly a sickly green light was flashing behind her from downstairs, brightening up the rooms and the corridors for the briefest of moments, followed by a dull thud. Something in her chest was tearing at her heart and tears were rolling down her cheeks. She knew, she had lost something very important now.

"Shush... Everything will be alright, I promise," Dorea whispered to the twins, knowing there was no way out as wards were hindering her from using any kind of teleportation magic inside the cottage. She could only poise here and try soothing the innocent boys.

Apart from the bawling children there was a short silence in the cottage, but what little hope Dorea had gathered for a second was shattered by the first creak of a stair. Each step of the deadly intruder upstairs was making the stairs creak in terror and each creak of terror was filling Dorea's heart with more grief and panic until a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"Voldemort," she stated hatefully and clutched with both shaking hands her wand like an escape rope.

Unnaturally red-slitted eyes like out of a horror film were staring at her predatory. "I see my reputation is proceeding me," his charming voice cut her like a knife. "You must be Dorea of House Black... Step aside and you may live."

"You killed him...," she whispered sobbingly at the beginning but her voice cleared up. "You killed my husband!"

The Dark Lord chuckled cruelly. "Everyone who defies Lord Voldemort shall die. Just like your husband did and your rebellious son with that mudblood bitch will soon enough too. Now step aside, woman. The only reason you're still alive is because you belong not only to House Black, but are also a member of Slytherin as well and it's saddens me to spill unnecessary noble blood. Your relatives knew what is good for them when they swore their loyalty to me."

"Sirius...," she hissed hatefully. "He is the traitor, isn't he? He is the secret keeper."

"Na..Na..Na.. That's not how you speak about a friend, is it?" he scolded her like a child, looking amused at her intensifying hate. "Although I would've liked to have both set of brothers on my side, I'm afraid Sirius isn't the traitor... At least not knowingly. Wormtail despite his lack of talents can be quite convincing at acting. But it will not matter after tonight."

"Wormtail? You mean Peter Pettigrew, but how? The Fidelius is infallible."

Voldemort waggled his wand lecturing her. "But we humans are not, are we? It was rather easy to convince Sirius Black that his dear weak friend Peter was suddenly targeted by my loyal Death Eaters and needed to vanish. Once he shared the secret of this refuge with Peter...," Voldemort made a sweeping gesture, "... well I think you can imagine the rest."

"That little treacherous rat! I never liked him."

Voldemort became deadly serious again, playtime with his prey was over. "My patience is running thin, woman and I have a tight schedule."

Dorea took a look back at her nephews, seeing the tears in their eyes and the red-coloured chubby faces, she knew what she had to do. "I can't let you kill them!" she proclaimed confidently and pointed her wand at Voldemort.

"You will die as well, if you ignore my generous offer. A Black is always welcomed in my ranks, even one who has slept with blood traitors. This is your last chance," Voldemort warned her.

"They're children please, they're innocent and hold no threat to you, please!"

The Dark Lord grew visibly angry and pointed his wand at her. "We both know I can't let these little pests live."

Now it was Dorea's time to let her eyes grew to slits. "You have been wrong, Voldemort."

"Oh... enlighten me then," he replied caustically.

"I'am a Potter!" she screamed at him and cast the most powerful blasting curse in her life in his snake-like face.

Anybody else might have been roasted toast, but the Dark Lord was not simply anybody... A protective shield was up before the curse could hit him and with an angry snarl he sends the same curse back at her. Point-blank. Her eyes could only widen in time until the purple curse hit her mercilessly in the chest, wrecking havoc on her body and blasting her back against the crib, braking quite a few wooden rods in the process. Voldemort was seriously surprised when he saw a breathing and little movement.

"P-Please don't h-hurt them," her voice was hoarse and barely able to drown out the wailing children behind her. Blood was flowing down the corner of her mouth and her chest looked unnaturally deformed.

Standing before her beaten form, his red-slitted eyes looked down at the disgusting woman. "Such a pity," he sneered and pointed his wand at her. "Avada Kedavra!"

A second time this chilly night a sickening green light illuminated the hidden cottage in Godric's Hollow and a second life has been taken. For a second Voldemort stared at her dead and broken body, wondering why she hadn't simply stepped aside to save her own skin. He certainly would've in her position. But Voldemort didn't know these feelings that let somebody sacrifice his life for another. Love was unknown to him.

His glowing red-slitted eyes turned to the cribs and a menacing grin erupted on his face. "Farewell, little brats," he said pointing his out of yew and phoenix feather crafted wand at the crying brothers. "You'll see your parents soon again. Avada Kedavra!"

Outside the hidden cottage, a young boy walking from door to door could've sworn he had seen a green flash for the briefest of moments and the wailing of children.

* * *

 **Sunday, November 01, 1981**

 **Hogwarts, School of Wizardry and Witchcraft**

 **7:00 AM**

The mood in the headmaster's office of Albus Dumbledore was grim at best and downright horrendous at worst. Some graveyard might even have a happier atmosphere than this collection of gloomy faces. Dumbledore was sitting on his usual spot behind his messy desk and played mindlessly with an abandoned wand, rolling it up and down with the tip of his fingers. Made of yew and with a rare phoenix feather as a core, this 13½ inches long wand belonged to none other than Lord Voldemort. The mystery was clear at hand... Why would Voldemort leave his wand carelessly behind at the crime scene without laying a finger on the twins? A wizard or a witch would never separate willingly from their chosen wand as it grows to be an extension of oneself. For a muggle it would be like severing off a limb.

James Potter was here as well, sitting in front of Dumbledore on the other side of the desk. He was clearly shaken up, his face white like a ghost, hands balled to fists, wrath was flowing through his veins like poison... The only thing preventing him from going off and explode like a bomb were the sombre thoughts of his now dead parents and the remaining frightened family here in this office. Charlus Potter had been a great man, a righteous man... He had been strict in his upbringing, and they had more often than not clashed because of that, but he also had been always supportive of his son. Dorea Potter, his beloved mother, was one of the most wonderful persons he knew... Despite her difficult upbringing in the House of Black, Dorea was warm like the sun and would've done everything for her family.

James turned around panicky and looked out for his wife and children, a part of him afraid they were gone as well. Not far away, Lily was sitting on a conjured coach with the twins halfway sitting and halfway lying on her lap. Her arms were protectively wrapped around them, clutching her distressed babies tightly to her body and smothering them with motherly affection by singing faintly their favourite lullaby and rubbing their backs.

The last three persons in the room were Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress and head of House Gryffindor in Hogwarts, teaching the children transfiguration as professor. She was currently standing between Dumbledore and James at the side of the desk with clear worry etched on her face. Standing far away from the others and whispering quite heatedly with each other were very close friends of the Potters and members of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew...

Finally, James Potter turned back to face Dumbledore again, watching him playing with that man's wand unconsciously. Anger was boiling up again in his belly. "Is it done then? Is he dead?" But Dumbledore didn't make the slightest inclination to react, clearly still pondering about things in his mind.

"Albus!" Minerva McGonagall pressed her friend more forcefully.

Coming back to life, Dumbledore blinked over his half-moon shaped glasses. "Mmhh, yes, Minerva?"

"Is Mr. Potter right? Is You-Know-Who gone?" she asked with concern lacing her raspy voice. Normally 'Mr. Potter' would playfully scold her now for calling him like in his schooldays and not with his given name like friends and colleagues in the order. But he lost the need for jokes now. With the current situation at hand and the painful knowledge of his murdered parents present in his mind.

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "I'm afraid not... I have examined Voldemort's wand...," everyone except himself and the twins, who were simply too young to understand, flinched at the casual spoken name of the Dark Lord, "... and he used the killing curse three times in close succession. That's what I leaned by the Prior Incantato spell directly. We have a good idea on whom he used two of them...," James knuckles turned white, knowing the two Dumbledore spoke of where his parents, "... as for the last one I have a theory."

His blue eyes looked over James shoulder towards the twins resting on Lily's lap. Following his glance more closely his stare was focused at John's forehead on which a fresh scar could be seen, shaped like a lightning bolt. "I know this must be incredible hard for you already, but this is not an ordinary cut on his forehead. A mark like that only comes from being touched by a curse, and an evil curse at that. We know which curse Voldemort used the last time from his wand," he finished, letting his words sink into every ones mind.

"By Morgana's...," Minerva almost wanted to swear, but kept herself in check. "How is that possible, Albus. Are you really sure? Nobody has survived the killing curse yet."

At the couch, Lily closed her eyes and soothingly caressed the boys heads which were resting on her chest. "This nightmare just doesn't end," she said despairingly.

Dumbledore looked sadly at Lily, willing to lift the burden off her shoulders, but he simply couldn't. "It truly pains me to tell you this, but you've no idea how close to the truth you actually are, my dear," he sighed, "I can't say for sure how John survived the killing curse. My best guess would be Dorea's will to sacrifice herself for her nephews, John in particular. Love is the strongest bond between humans there is. But there is no mistake... I can still feel the dark magic coming off his scar like a finger print of Voldemort itself. That's clearly the mark the prophecy spoke of."

His blue eyes turned to each and every one in the room insistently. "As for Voldemort... There is no telling at the moment what exactly happened when John survived the curse. Somehow the curse must have rebound and hit Voldemort himself, weakening him in the process."

"But Albus...," James began and looked briefly at his son John, "... aside from my son, how could Voldemort survive the killing curse himself? Why do you think he is still alive and lurking out there."

"I can't give you hard proof, if that's what you wish of me, my boy," he said looking directly in his eyes, lacking the twinkling eyes he was so famous for, "However, I can base my assumptions on three facts. Firstly the prophecy spoke about a confrontation between the Dark Lord and his possible vanquisher, for now Voldemort has only marked John. Nothing more, nothing less. The second fact is based around what we found in the remains of your cottage in Godric's Hollow, or rather what we didn't find. There was no body left of Voldemort and the killing curse doesn't work like that. Secondly he left behind his wand which I assume is probably one of the few things Voldemort holds dear and his worn robe. Adding to that the wards didn't record any other presence aside of your own and Voldemort's. So nobody else could've entered your home and brought him somewhere else," Dumbledore sunk back into his seat looking drained of energy. "Lastly we know of killed Death Eaters, that the dark mark on their arms dissolve once they're dead. It's only logical to assume the same happens, if Voldemort dies. But my sources tell me the mark isn't gone completely on alive Death Eaters, just faded away like he lost a lot of his power." Nobody noticed how Peter was rubbing his arm uncomfortably.

"What about John?" asked the squeaky voice of Peter Pettigrew. "The D- ... You-Know-Who will be after him eventually," he finished and elicited an involuntary sob of Lily, "He will need protection."

"He will be famous in the wizarding world, no doubt," Remus tossed in, looking at John with a sad, yet proud look. "He will be known as The-Boy-Who-Lived to everybody."

There was silence for a brief moment, the words of Remus and Peter sinking in to everyone present in Dumbledore's office, not knowing they would influence the fate of Britain in the next few decades.

James breathed out noisily, a betrayed look crossing over his face. There was still a matter of discussion remaining... The traitor... Sirius Black, their secret keeper for the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow. "What about him?" he asked the fury in his tone making it for everyone clear who was addressed. "Will he get the Dementor's kiss?" he asked Dumbledore, who was holding many other responsibilities alongside his position as headmaster of Hogwarts and secret leader of the order. He was holding the position of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot among others, an important and powerful position in the wizarding political system.

It deeply saddens Dumbledore to hear the sincere hope laced in James voice as he spoke about his once best friend's possible execution. Then again there was no doubt about Sirius's guilt. The secret of the Fidelius charm was protected inside the soul of the secret keeper and couldn't be brought up to light by torture or even the Imperio curse. Sirius must have given away the secret to Voldemort willingly. "He seemed to have completely lost his mind, when he was arrested a few hours ago. Judging by the report of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they couldn't find out for how long he was working as a spy for Voldemort or anything else for the matter. Therefore, by law, Sirius will be held prisoner at Azkaban until the day comes all his crimes come out to light and his participation of Voldemort's regime."

"This seems hard now, my boy. Believe me I know what you are going through," Dumbledore told him, remembering the death of his sister Ariana and the charming smile of Gellert Grindelwald, knowing he was still rotting inside a cell in Nurmengard for his crimes, "But I hope there will come a time you'll find the heart to forgive Sirius for your sake. Holding on to hate is not healthy."

This was the first time Albus Dumbledore found himself at the receiving end of an angry glare by James Potter and it would take several more years until the next time...

* * *

To be continued...

So during writing this chapter I came across a little mystery and therefore a problem myself. I always had thought Charlus and Dorea are the parents of James, but apparently confirmed by various sources, this isn't true, even though these characters do exist and Dorea even in the right time frame as well.

Their names are Euphemia Potter and Fleamont Potter, but for the sake of my story it will be Charlus and Dorea. Just wanted to clear that one up in case somebody gets confused.

Another point I want to address this time are a few general informations. I will give updates out for the progress of the respectively next chapter via my profile page, which will be updated continuously as well. I just don't know to which extent yet.

I can understand there is and will be worry of the length and therefore the possibility of abandonment of my story. I can't really take that away from you, but you should know that I have planned out this fanfiction for several months, gathering ideas and so on... Basically I have already all major turning points finished and are only working on details for each chapter. The release time of each chapter may vary though, as I study and work at the same time and have to sometimes learn for exams... You know how it is... If you want a general idea how long it will take for the next release, just go to my profile page and look at the current progress.

Last point I want to address is the viewpoint of the story, which has been brought up a few times in the comments. While I really love the Kingkiller Chronicles and are anxiously waiting for the "probably" last book, I will not copy his style of writing (first person/only Kvothe view point etc) Though it would truly sadden me, if people stop reading my story just because I do write in third-person viewpoint, I will not change the way I write without good reason. It's just my natural style which I feel comfortable with.

Hope to see you again in the next chapter. Would love to read what you think so don't be afraid to comment. I won't bite... well maybe a little! ;)


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